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“Crowley, my dear boy, what on earth are you doing?”
Crowley looked up from the kitchen counter, where he was haphazardly poking at a shaggy ball of dough, his long fingers dusted with flour. “Kneading the pizza dough.”
“That's not how you do it.” Aziraphale threw down his paring knife and crossed the kitchen to stand behind Crowley. Plunging his hands into the flour, he hooked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around him, so that Crowley could see what he was doing. “The dough needs a firm hand. Like this.”
Crowley watched as Aziraphale began to knead the dough, pushing down with the heel of his hand, folding it over, and then turning it to press down again, adding flour to the workspace as needed. As he worked, Aziraphale’s powerful forearms rippled, light blond hairs catching in the fading sunlight from the kitchen window. He was kneading the dough with great force, pounding it down into the counter, and each thrust brought his hips in contact with Crowley’s firm ass.
“Angel…” Crowley whispered, and he tipped his head back, exposing his elegant throat as he rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. His response to his lover was Pavlovian at this point: one whiff of that sharp cologne, one brush of those sturdy fingers, and he was hard as a rock, ready for anything and everything.
“My dear.” Aziraphale let the dough rest on the counter and took a long, shuddering breath. He trailed one hand up along the front of Crowley’s torso to wrap it around his throat, leaving a trail of floury fingerprints up the tight black henley. With his other hand, he reached downward, cupping Crowley’s aching cock through the front of his tight jeans. “Oh my. Oh, I see.”
Aziraphale tightened his grip, and Crowley turned his head, and then they were kissing, open-mouthed and sloppy, as Aziraphale ground his clothed cock into Crowley’s ass. Crowley brought up his own floury hand to grasp at a fistful of Aziraphale’s curls, winding the white-blond locks in a tight grip as he crushed their mouths together as best he could.
“Angel — Angel, I need you to fuck me — now, please,” Crowley gasped.
Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the hips and shifted him down the counter, away from the floury dough mess. He took hold of both of Crowley’s wrists and pinned his forearms down onto the counter, bending him forward. “Leave those there,” Aziraphale hissed, and Crowley wiggled his hips in anticipation.
Jeans were shoved down his knees, and Crowley heard the click of the small bottle of lube that Aziraphale now carried in the pocket of his trousers, given that he had taken to railing Crowley against nearly every surface in their home. A slick along Aziraphale’s cock, and another over Crowley’s hole, and Aziraphale was nudging his blunt head up against Crowley’s entrance. “Breathe, darling,” he murmured.
And oh, the breach was exquisite, Aziraphale’s thick cock stretching Crowley in exactly the way that he craved. They fucked hard and dirty against the counter, Aziraphale hitting home exactly where Crowley needed it with every thrust. His hand was wrapped around Crowley’s cock, pumping in time with his movements, and it wasn’t long before Crowley felt his thighs beginning to shake.
“Angel, I’m close — I’m going to —”
Aziraphale grabbed a clean tea towel from the counter and wrapped it around Crowley’s cock to catch his spend. At the same time, he pushed deep into Crowley’s ass, reaching his own climax and spilling again and again. Crowley collapsed over the counter, and Aziraphale draped over his back, both of them breathing hard.
A little while later, Aziraphale straightened up. “It seems odd to me that you’ve already forgotten how to knead the dough, considering I just showed you last week.”
Crowley looked over his shoulder, casting his lover a mischievous grin. “I didn’t forget.”
Aziraphale pretended to frown. “Foul fiend.” But they both heard the caress in his voice, and knew they would be playing this game again.
THE END